Perfect
by stalkerhinata
Summary: It couldn't get any more fuckin' perfect. M for language?
1. Pefect

_It was all so perfect._

Gravel bit into him from head to toe as he lay on his back, gasping and wheezing, in the alleyway behind their target's apartment. He was grateful for the lack of feeling in his right side, though he was fairly certain that was a bad thing.

_Ah well, small victories._

The plan had been easy enough, in and out.

-Connor goes in the front of the building; Murphy climbs the fire escape.

-Connor knocks on the door; Murphy sneaks in the window.

-Connor takes out the greeter, and the three in the front room; Murphy gets the three in the back.

-Connor crosses their arms; Murphy places the pennies.

-Pray. Pray. Pray.

-Connor takes their payment and leaves back through the front; Murphy takes their gear back through the window.

-They meet back at the pub for a round, or four.

The plan didn't go astray until Connor had already left the building, and Murphy was about two thirds of the way down the fire escape. That was when Murphy heard a startled yelp and the clamor of bags hitting the ground. The newcomer, apparently the gang's gopher returning from a beer run, locked gazes with him for about four seconds before pulling a gun, _a fuckin' six-shooter,_ out of his waistband and firing. Murphy drew his own gun, clinging to the ladder with his free hand, and fired one shot. The gopher emptied his gun.

Thankfully, four of the bullets hit the brick siding of the apartment building, but it was the two in his side that had Murphy falling the last story and a half to the ground.

_Just fuckin' perfect._

So, he lay on his back, cringing and whimpering in pain, staring into the bloody face of the gopher laying dead five feet away.

He knew that the police were on their way and Connor wasn't because he was halfway to McGinty's by now and thinks Murphy's right behind him. And he thought that things couldn't possibly get any worse.

And then he _moved._

Just the subtle movement to get his hands under him sent white hot spikes of pain up his side, shattering all delusions of that pleasant numbness. A little voice tried to tell him that pain was probably a good sign. He told it to fuck off. And then he pulled himself backwards, over the rocks and glass and metal bits that riddled the alley. The way they sliced his hands had nothing on the way they got in his wounds, and stuck, and dug, and _hurt._

Finally he was sitting up, leaning his back against the wall as his chest heaved with the effort to refill itself and sweat poured down his face and back. Shaking hands pulled on his jacket and shirt, slipping in his own blood, as he strained to check his wounds. They didn't look as bad as they felt, which was something cause they _looked_ pretty damn bad. The gravel in his back told him one had gone clean through, which meant it hadn't hit anything important, but he could _feel_ the other one, solid and obtrusive, lodged somewhere near his hip.

He leaned his head against the dumpster to his right as his vision drifted in and out. He wondered how long it would take Connor to come looking for him, could be minutes or hours depending on how heavily his brother's drinking.

He wondered how long he could wait.

He couldn't keep track of time as he lied there, drifting in and out, making shapes in the colors that swirled in front of his vision, but he eventually started to hear noises.

They grew closer; running footsteps, cursing, panting, more running, more cursing.

Murphy pulled his legs closer, curling as tightly as he could behind the dumpster despite the screaming protest of his side.

Finally the footsteps reached him. Murphy closed his eyes, willing himself not to be seen, until the thump of a body and a whoosh of breath had him sneaking a peek.

There was now the dark shape of a man face planted in the alley, his legs sprawled out over the corpse of the gopher, muffling obscenities. The man quickly scrambled off of the gopher and turned his head to study the face before letting out a sigh.

"Just. Fuckin'. Perfect."

Murphy couldn't help but chuckle at the sentiment, causing the man's head to snap around towards to noise. And Murphy was staring into the furious eyes of his twin.

Connor launched himself off of the man and towards his brother getting ready to rip into him, before taking in the hand clutching Murphy's side, coated in blood. Instantly he was crouched at his brother's side, eyes assessing the damage as he frantically pulled Murphy into his arms and _ran_, carrying him through the alleys, towards home.


	2. Grounded

Connor had hated this plan from the start. It just didn't feel right, him and Murph goin' in separately.

He knew it was necessary though, after they botched this job the last time, getting spotted goin' in. Their targets had relocated and they were a bitch to find again. So, Murph came up with this plan, pointing out that they were less recognizable separate than they were together, and Connor agreed with that.

That didn't mean he had to like it.

He had that sickly feeling of dread in his stomach the entire way to the apartment, telling himself that he needed to slow down, not to rush, arguing that it would take Murphy longer to climb the fire escape than it would for him to climb the stairs. If he was early, he was dead.

But, if he was late, Murph was.

His paranoid side won out and had him bounding up the steps, practically running to down the hall towards the target room. He took a chance and leaned out one of the hall windows, craning his neck to see the fire escape. Spotting Murphy nearing the room, Connor pulled on his mask and walked back to the apartment's door. Show time.

Connor knocked politely on the door and awaited an answer, firing at chest level as soon as the door opened and sidestepping around the new corpse to fire at the rest of the room's shocked inhabitants. One man managed to draw his gun, but was down before he could pull the trigger. A shout from the next room had his stomach dropping, but the _pffts_ of his brother's silencer working gave him a little reassurance. Still, he didn't completely relax until he rounded the corner to see Murphy, and only Murphy, standing in the bedroom.

Their eyes met and they nodded in greeting, all business now. They set to work on their ritual.

Cross the arms. Place the pennies.

Pray. Pray. Pray.

_And to the victor goes the spoils._

Connor gathered up the dirty money that lay around the apartment, as Murphy stuffed all their gear into one bag. Both silently opted to keep one gun on them, just in case. They nodded their farewells and left, Murph through the window, Connor through the door. His chest feeling much lighter than the last time, he made his way back down the stairs. It had worked, precisely according to their plan, well, Murphy's plan, but he was willing to take some credit now that it had worked. It was the perfect job.

* * *

_This_ was the worst fucking plan _ever_. Twenty minutes and four shots after walking into the bar Connor became twitchy, agitated, _worried._ Even factoring in the time it would take to climb down the fire escape and navigate through the alleyways, Murphy should have been here by now. He _knew_ that they shouldn't have separated, at least on the way out. Who cares if anyone saw them leaving together? The police would already know they had been there. But Murphy had _insisted_ that this way was _safer._ And Connor had listened; thrilled that Murph hadn't wanted to just rush in recklessly for once. But this was ridiculous. He was doing all the planning from now on. Then at least if they ran into trouble they were _together_. Now, his brother was out there, _alone_, and who knows what could've happened to him on the way here.

Connor toppled his barstool in his rush to get out the door. The cools night air whipped away whatever sliver of a buzz he'd developed, and he thanked God for his Irish constitution. He started out just walking through the alleyways, taking the only logical route between the apartments and the pub, expecting to run into Murphy on the way. The closer he got, the faster he went until he was full-on sprinting around the last corner. He was right next to the building, and becoming quite frantic, when he tripped; hitting the ground hard and getting a face full of gravel. Cursing, he wrenched his head around to see what tripped him. He took in the shape of a man's body, a dark pool of blood smearing the ground near his head, and Connor could have thrown up his own heart. He scrambled off of the ground and over to the fallen man, to get a look at his face, and breathed a sigh of relief.

_Not Murphy._

But that just meant he still didn't know where his twin was.

"Just. Fuckin'. Perfect."

A chuckle to his right had him whipping his head around to see Murphy _lounging_ against the wall, a small smile playing on his face. Connor jumped off of the corpse to stalk over to his brother, ready to tear him to pieces for _ever_ scaring him like that. Then he saw the hand clutching Murphy's side, and the thick blood running over it to pool on the ground near his hip. Connor practically teleported to his brother's side, checking his wounds and pulling his twin into his arms to carry home, angling Murphy's hip to rest against him to try and staunch some of the bleeding.

And the he _ran._

_

* * *

_

Murphy was a mess. Connor had thought that the worst part would have been pulling the bullet out of his hip, eliciting several inhuman noises from his brother that had him cringing. But after that side was cleaned and cauterized, he flipped Murphy onto his front, and was certain that he lost several shades of color at the sight His back was just one big, ugly bruise with tiny scratches and punctures accenting it, and one gaping bullet wound. It should have been much smaller, but it had been _pulled_ and _stretched _and filled with gravel. By the time Connor managed to get the last of the tiny rocks out, Murphy had become more awake and aware, which meant he was screaming around his gag as Connor took the iron to his back. But then it was done, Murphy was cleaned and bandaged and Connor helped him over to his bed before settling in beside him, just watching him _breathe_, relishing in the fact that his twin was alive and safe and relatively ok. Eventually, Murphy stirred, he turned his head to look at his brother and let out a sigh.

"So…let's not go with that plan next time."

Connor snorted, "What next time?"

He got up from Murphy's bed and walked the few feet to his own without glancing back.

"You're grounded."


End file.
